


Parallels and Divergence from the Norms

by love2imagine



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love2imagine/pseuds/love2imagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers around first half of Season 1. I am not so much trying to recreate the first few episodes, but show what might have gone wrong. Where poor communications and misunderstandings might have contributed to problems. In this story, I like to think the character Kate, despite some poor influences she has on other characters, was a good person.</p><p>I have tried to fill some odd gaps in the story.</p><p>There are differences from canon White Collar, but it sticks to the storyline quite closely until it doesn't. It's the thoughts behind the words that change the feel, I hope.</p><p>All the characters but one belong to Jeff Eastin, he is responsible for creating them. I borrow for fun.</p><p>Thanks to all my readers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallels and Divergence from the Norms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PadyandMoony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadyandMoony/gifts), [danajeanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danajeanne/gifts).



 

 

 

 

* * *

Neal Caffrey

* * *

 

 The blade scraped horribly on his cold beard. He wasn’t aware of the brilliance of his blue eyes or the cheek-bones and jaw that made him handsome: he knew these, as a surgeon knows where a scalpel lies on the instrument tray when he needs it: tools in his kit, at hand, to be used when needed.

 

While his hands completed the transformation, his quick, cunning mind ran through exigencies that might arise. If this was going to work, he would have to be ready to change the plan if necessary. But, sadly, there was little margin for error in this plan, and many aspects lay out of his control. He was relying on the other prisoners to keep quiet, for the rapid turnover of staff to work in his favour, and for no sharp-eyed warden or long-term guard to turn up having swopped shifts or because he’d forgotten his phone!

 

He didn’t even think of Kate, consciously. She lived and breathed and had her being in the back of his mind and deep in his heart. His warmth and dream and life. His reason for this desperate attempt… and it was likely to be an attempt. He knew the statistics: almost no-one escaped prison from behind bars, though some did from hospital and on work detail. And from _this_ type of prison? ..one hand to count them.

 

He did what any good conman does, and _became_ the mask, the persona. Pity the uniform looked _so_ new, but there was little time. He walked with intention but not haste, not turning his face away too obviously. He became the prison guard, outside and in. Nothing to see here.

 

There was only one moment of alarm, when he came smack against another guard – and one he’d spoken to! – but the other man did not recognise him, smiled, they swopped places, and he was outside.

 

Out. Did the air really smell sweeter? The pictures of Kate became brighter, her eyes thanked him, her voice urged him. He ignored them and continued with his plan. He was far from safe, yet. He needed to collect her and for them to run as far and fast as possible.

 

As he drove over the bridge, he felt a little lighter. With the wind in his hair, in a strange car, he felt closer to freedom, closer to Kate. His joy rose.

 

He couldn’t help himself. He leapt out of the car and ran up the stairs like a frantic eight-year-old. He stopped himself calling, “Kate! Kate! Kate!”, as he wanted to! And then –

 

 

The door was open. The apartment had been hastily and messily cleared. She was gone. His first thought was that someone in the prison had been watching him…

 

He searched quickly, and then, breathing deliberately and slowly, he searched again. He refused to consider defeat. There was junk mail on the floor, probably shoved under it by some neighbour, but only a couple of days’ worth, so she hadn’t left her rooms when she left him in prison, months ago. None of this made sense!

 

But Neal Caffrey wasn’t Neal Caffrey because he gave up when there was a hitch in his plans. If he accepted that someone had forced Kate to leave him, and leave here – and he had to believe that, they loved one another, she’d visited him for three-and-a-half years, every week – then she’d leave him a message. If she possibly could!

 

He scoured the place – behind outlets, under loose vinyl, in the radiators. He examined scratches on the counter-top and blew mist onto every reflective surface. Nothing. If she had left him a message, someone had come after her and erased it. That thought made him despair…Kate in the hands of some clever man who was using her. But why? Kate had few skills worth adbucting her for…except her beauty, and then why leave her here, why allow her to say good-bye at the prison? Thankfully, Neal crossed ‘white slave trade’ off his list of not-completely-crazy fears.

 

And then he knew, a sudden conviction: They wanted _him._ For a few seconds he wondered if this was conceit, but he had proven himself a master in several fields of criminal endeavour, despite his youth.

 

He went to the window and peeked out. Right by the borrowed Rolls was a black SUV, and another parked across the road. They were not law enforcement, there were no sirens. They were waiting for him to emerge. He had walked into a trap. Again. Again a trap baited with Kate. Why didn’t they come and get him…oh. Only one set of stairs. Better to wait till he came to them from here, or the approaching law enforcement might box them in. That's why they'd forced her to leave and take everything. They thought he'd leave immediately and walk right into their clutches.

 

And then he heard the sirens. And he had a last idea. He had checked all the bric-a-brac lying around the room, but the garbage bin…he rushed to it and it was empty but for…their wine bottle! His heart leapt, but there was no note within it, nothing written on it.

 

But this had to be it. His mind, always quick and multi-facetted, thought through every possibility. She’d been forced to throw it away in front of someone. (He imagined her despair. This was the promise of their dream life together.) So no obvious message. But what if there was something – a perfume, a microdot hidden on the label, _something._

 

If he ran, whoever had her would have him, too. And she hadn’t wanted that. If he waited for the LEO’s, chances are he’d never see the bottle again. Certainly, they wouldn’t let him have it in prison, broken glass was just too useful. Might as well let him have a gun! If he left it, some janitor or building manager would trash it.

 

In fact, there was only one chance, and that as slim and frail as an aging soap bubble.

 

But – he’d done everything he could. Now it was up to the legendary Caffrey luck that had served him well over the years. The sirens, blaring horribly, congregated outside.

 

_Let’s see if it holds!_

He slid down the central supporting pillar to land sitting on the floor: submissive, dejected… _absolutely harmless._

 

And in walked Agent Peter Burke of the FBI. Neal heaved a sigh of relief. The chances were still terrifyingly close to zero. But not, quite, completely zero.

 

 

* * *

The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous)

* * *

 

The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous) sat back and waited for his laundry-cycle to come to an end. He opened the newspaper and glanced at the front page. Earthquakes and downed planes. Nothing for him. _Someone already wrote ‘Lost’. Someone's already written all the good stuff!_

 

On page four he saw a small article heading that caught his attention:

 

**First successful escape from a supermax prison in 13 years.**

Now that sounded interesting. Some serial rapist, multiple murderer, human trafficker? He read down the column, written by some hack journalist.

 

_Neal Caffrey, convicted on Bond Forgery nearly four years ago escaped briefly from Sing Sing maximum security wing today. Caffrey (30) was indicted on multiple other charges, but only the forgery charge stuck. He was due to be released in about three months from this escape, which has prison officials scratching their heads. Other than as a youthful exhibition of Caffrey’s talent, the escapade seems not only pointless, but will likely earn Caffrey at least 2 more years in prison._

_For Caffrey was captured by a combined task force of FBI and New York PD officers within hours of him walking out of this most secure prison in the whole state._

_The details of his escape have been with-held._

The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous) grimaced. Not very exciting at all. Not a murderer…now _those_ held appeal. Everyone loved murderers, on the screen where they were safe. Murderers were intriguing. No-one wrote much about rapists. Interesting. Arson would be fun. Lots of special effects…

 

He sighed. He wished _he’d_ brought Criminal Minds to the attention of the networks. That was a good show, lots of gore, lots of suspense, fascinating to the public. It had run for years! He needed that kind of show! But it wasn’t easy to come up with a hit show!

 

Especially not someone who tended towards depression. It was so hard to do anything! Anything at all.

 

 

* * *

Neal Caffrey…perhaps

* * *

 

 

The unusually good-looking young criminal emerged from the gate. He was wearing a black coat over a white T, his hair was messy. He could have been homeless, except for the smooth jaw and even more telling, a spark of passion and purpose in his eyes that they seldom showed. He glanced up at the free, open sky, as if appreciating it, but his expression changed, hardened, fell into negative lines when he saw Peter Burke, FBI Agent waiting for him. His bright blue eyes went flat, almost sad.

 

“Let me see it,” Burke ordered.

 

Neal hitched up his pant-leg, revealing the tracker. He knew exactly what it was. A mobile prison, one attached to his very body. And Burke was the warden, and one who could be watching him every second. The sky was free, but he was less so than he’d been a day before.

 

“You understand how this works?” demanded Burke, his voice holding no sympathy at all. He needed this criminal to take heed. He did not want him to falter, and he knew the risks for both of them. Hughes had been less than wildly enthusiastic about this scheme, and if Peter had been getting anywhere with the Dutchman, Neal Caffrey would have rotted in prison for another four years. Which is what he deserved, after all.

 

Neal recited, mechanically, “I’m being released into the custody of the FBI under your supervision, and this thing chaffs my leg. Anything I’m missing?”

 

Agent Burke nodded. He hadn’t come closer, he’d stood by the car. Distant. Neal was alive to the signs. Burke answered, “Yeah, if you run and I catch you, which you know I will because I’m two and oh, you’re not back here for four years, you’re back here for good.”

 

For the first time Neal knew what he’d walked into. Burke was a bully and a liar. Firstly, both times he was claiming he’d ‘caught’ Neal, Neal had been looking for Kate and desperate to find her. Both times he had believed that she had been in some sort of trouble. Now he felt sure, with something deep in his heart.

 

He was not a hardened criminal that Burke had taken down by strength and astuteness: Burke had set him up with Kate and he’d willingly walked into the trap to make sure she was alive and well. The second time, all Burke had to do was come to Kate’s apartment. He’d been trapped inside because of…someone…

         If Burke had put in a good word for him, the judge would have added very little time, if any. If only he’d had access to another agent or cop! But he’d proved himself to Burke, with the security strip of the new Canadian hundred. He didn’t have leverage with anyone else. And Burke, to put it as kindly as possible, was an unforgiving bastard, wanting the system to take revenge on him, Neal, because he’d thwarted it. Neal had read other cases. He knew the precedent.

 

If Kate had been in almost any other country and he’d escaped to find her, he would have had little or no time added: prison was deemed an unnatural human condition and the wish to escape, therefore, perfectly natural! It wasn’t unusual for no time to be added at all, let alone doubling his sentence as they had, especially as a non-violent criminal who had not hurt anyone in his escape – and for Burke to pretend that he could be thrown back for life when that wouldn’t happen even to the most dangerous criminal on parole or house arrest…! Burke was just trying to intimidate him.

 

Neal didn’t like bullies.

 

Also, he liked to think he was good at what he did. He had proven over and again that he was a gifted forger, a clever thief, a well-above average conman. He didn’t take credit for great works done by others, nor blow his own trumpet about his exploits even amongst his cronies and he had never had a reason to exaggerate them as Burke just had.

 

While walking towards the car, he wondered what it would be like to be average, and not only average, but insecure enough to feel the need to magnify something as simple as ‘capturing’ a single, unarmed man trapped in a storage building, backed up by …twenty-five? … armed officers and agents?

         Or to make it sound as though Neal had been running, or hidden, and he’d worked something out that was so clever…not that he’d walked into Kate’s – again – and again with ‘all of the marshals and agents’ against a single, unarmed man…

 

_This was probably a mistake! But worst comes to worst, if I can’t find Kate and this is too dreadful to bear, I’ll just cut the anklet and run. I am no worse off than in prison, and once I’m overseas, with all my funds and all my contacts, I can begin again. So whether they would give me a few more months or a life-sentence, it doesn’t matter. I probably should do a little research and see if sentencing laws have changed, because when I’ve looked into it before, they were reducing sentences and especially for non-violent offenders. They want to decrease the prison population, they don’t like the stigma attached to having such an overwhelmingly huge proportion of people incarcerated compared to other developed countries!_

_Burke thinks he’s frightening me; he doesn’t realise that if that very unlikely scenario was true he’s just given me a huge incentive to run and never be found._

 

Peter went on, “You’re going to be tempted to look for Kate. Don’t.”

 

“I told you, the bottle meant ‘goodbye’.”

 

“Then leave it at that. This is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, we can make it permanent.”

 

Neal didn’t allow a look of pleasure to drift across his face like a cobweb. Not many people would have managed to get their arresting officer to keep and return the only piece of evidence he had to find Kate again. He hadn’t lied, not that he would feel any remorse in lying to a federal agent, especially one like Burke, but the bottle _did_ mean ‘good-bye’. It just meant ‘good-bye, don’t come after me, it isn’t safe’. If she’d meant ‘good-bye, I never want to see you again’ the bottle would have been smashed.

 

 

* * *

FBI Special Agent Peter Burke

* * *

 

Peter looked at this handsome, confident criminal, trying to quell a twinge of concern. Most people with those looks rested on them, did not develop character; did not develop a world-wide reputation for excellence. He knew he’d worked with every fibre of his being to find him, every spare minute thinking about him and how to catch him – and he had caught him because of a weakness for a girl. _El was right. Neal Caffrey had literally been a prisoner of love!_

  _Trouble is, he still loves her. She leaves him, he breaks out of supermax to get her! Here he is, lying to me…in action if not in word. He’s here for Kate! I want his help, I need his help – and I’ll help him in return. If he’ll let me. But how do I stop him running after Kate? I’m not sure I have any answers to that._

* * *

Neal Caffrey (at least that’s what they call him)

* * *

 

 

 Then Peter showed his hand and his insecurity to a far greater degree the next morning! Neal was showing off his thrift-store finds: His luxurious living space, the granddaughter, his unique suit of clothing! He was so happy – and expected Peter to respond in kind. He didn’t know many people who wouldn’t be caught up in the miracle of going from a trashed motel and cheap thrift-store clothes to this! Anyone should be thrilled that such things are possible!

 

To Neal’s total astonishment, Peter was _angry_. He preached. He ridiculed. Neal tried to tease him, but there was no humour in Burke.

 

_It isn’t as though I stole or forged or conned! What is this man’s problem!_

 

 

* * *

FBI Special Agent Peter Burke

* * *

 

  _I don’t understand how he does these things…he expects them! He doesn’t even need to con, people are drawn to him, people enjoy his company, they give to him – and he takes. How can I possibly control him when he has a world out there just waiting for him to con them?_

_Now he’s all dressed up like a costume party! – yeah, I think he looks silly, old fashioned, but look at that grin! Feel that self-assurance just radiating off him! The more confident he becomes, the more self-assured, the more likely he is to run…and he probably thinks Kate will think he’s **so** handsome like that!_

_And now I’m just sounding mean, narrow-minded and judgemental and he’s horrified at the monster he’s tied to! Damn, I’m bad at this!_

_All I want is for this man to face reality for once! If he’d just had to stay in that motel, see what his work and life is really worth to this point, but he finds some woman to …well, she decides to help him. So now he thinks he’s rewarded, or that he can do what he likes and still live like a millionaire._

_I should keep my emotions tightly reined around him. From what I’ve read, this kind of conman will use anything, anything he knows becomes a weakness to be exploited._

  
 

 

* * *

Neal Caffrey (may be an alias)

* * *

    

 What seemed like a lifetime later, Peter gave him a ride home, which was nice of him, totally unnecessary, and it meant that Neal would get some sleep in a bed and not on an uncomfortable transit bench.

 

_Perhaps he wants the best from me to catch the Dutchman._

They had worked late. Not that Neal and his…associates …hadn’t worked round the clock, sometimes, but not for the paltry salaries given these more-than-average men and women.

 

Neal had been a little surprised that they hadn’t wondered at the value of the Spanish Bond, though. If you’re going to plan a heist, a con, it has to be simple and safe, or the rewards have to be adequate to compensate. The bond was beautiful, almost flawless. Hagen was taking meticulous care. Neal admired the planning and the work. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t got out to catch this man who, as far as he knew, wasn’t into violence. Such a lot of work down the drain. Sad. The agents don’t see it, don’t care. _Just another job. No appreciation. And these are the White Collar division. Imagine Vice, or Organised Crime, what heart-dead people they must be._

 

_They’re bringing the Snow White and her Seven Little Men books here. So they’re going to do the printing here. Wonder why. Seems as if it would be more sensible to do it in Spain. Oh…printed here originally. So the press is here. Hey, I’d move it. Ship it in pieces as parts._

He suddenly realised that he wasn’t sharing with his new ‘crew’.

 

_Well, I don’t trust them. They don’t like or trust me. They make that quite clear. I am quite sure they won’t share everything with me! Like when I was working with Keller. I thought we could be partners, learn to trust each other, he had a great sense of humour, he had swagger - but then he killed that guy. Just stupid. Cruel and stupid. Not necessary. Puts up the risk a great deal._

_And I’m stuck with these people I don’t trust, who own me, for years._

He suddenly felt very lonely. _Worth it, for Kate._ He tried to believe it. He smiled a little at Jones. Jones’ eyes narrowed slightly.

 

 

In the car, he attempted to create some sort of interaction with this very by-the-book, unimaginative agent who believed that somehow everyone in the world was paid what they were worth – or should be. _I guess he’d judge that on their tax returns! I’d love to unleash Mozzie’s brain on that concept! Hah!_

_Hope Mozzie gets in touch soon._

 

 

Neal asked about their anniversary plans. He had decided early on to call him Peter – he thought of him as Peter, had since he found the FBI had assigned someone to his case. Peter Burke. He’d known a Peter once, kid killed falling off a building when a piece of masonry broke away. In a hurry, not testing each hand-hold.

 

‘ _Course, Peter probably wasn’t his real name. Martin didn’t much care. Poor kid._

So he’d called the stalking threat Peter, made it manageable. Of course, Peter Burke, FBI agent, was not like Peter-the-kid at all. The skinny kid had been about eighteen, excited and enjoying learning the trade under their crew boss. He showed potential, but really should have been in school, going on to art college or something of the sort. But with no parents and no money and a kid brother with Lupus… Neal sighed. He’d have so much rather been riding with Peter-the-kid.

 

When he realised that Burke had forgotten his wedding anniversary altogether – and this after not making sure he made it home to dinner…

 

 _Wow. This guy is dysfunctional! He’s the boss, he could have called it a night early enough to get home…! Wonder what sort of woman wants an agent as a husband…from what I know she seems intelligent, relatively cultured…_ he looked across with some puzzlement at the man next to him in the Ford Taurus. _Security? Government benefits? Got to be something!_

He asked what made Elizabeth Burke feel alive and, after a decade of marriage, this dufus didn’t have a clue.

 

When he called him on it, Peter turned on him and snarled, “Oh, no! You don’t get to lecture me on relationships! My wife didn’t change her identity and flee the country to get away from me.”

 

Neal felt as though someone had stabbed him. He felt as he’d felt when Keller had shot his partner out-of-hand. He couldn’t understand wanton cruelty…

 

_Of course, that’s it, he feels inadequate. He’s striking out because I make him feel inadequate! Well, he should feel inadequate! He **is** inadequate! _

_But what he said – is it true? Have I **no** hope of finding Kate on this damned anklet-chain? Does he know for sure? What do I do now if it’s true - ?_

Peter drove a short way and then said, “That was harsh. I didn’t – I didn’t mean that.”

 

“Yeah, you did.”

 

_Run, that’s what I do. Far and fast._

 

Peter made an indeterminate noise that Neal could take as anything he chose. It certainly wasn’t an apology, so he _had_ meant it.

 

_He just made a mistake. He’s shown a weakness. He’s off-balance - And he can’t read me!_

 

Neal took advantage of Peter’s unease to ask, trying to push for some clue, “Did she really flee the country? Did she go to France?”

 

_Cote d’Azur, perhaps! Perhaps she got there after all. I’d like that._

“I don’t know,” Burke replied, shortly. Then he asked Neal “What am I going to do?”

 

But Neal, who would have helped him fix his mess ten minutes ago, shot him down without compunction and without regret.

 

_So he just said the first thing that came into his head about Kate that he knew would hurt me? Or perhaps he spent hours working that one out! Let this brute stew. And Elizabeth Burke must have very low standards. Or perhaps she has a really large life insurance policy out on him. He has a high risk job, premiums probably high, but they’ve been married a while…long con?…not a bad scam._

 

 

* * *

FBI Special Agent Peter Burke

* * *

 

  _Well, that went well! I felt ashamed to be caught out by this kid and turned it on him. And he **is**_ _soft-hearted. I hurt him. How do I tell him I was thinking so much of whether I should take his deal that I forgot how many weeks had passed. No, that’ll make him conceited, think I need him too much. And Dad always said that in business it was foolish to apologise, it made you look weak! And this is a business deal, near as anything. Can’t let him see weakness. Poor kid. Poor brilliant, brilliantly manipulative kid!_

 

 

* * *

Neal Caffrey (likely an alias)

* * *

 

It took Mozzie just a little over a day to get to him. That was Mozzie! One short, cryptic message on an anonymous pager was all it took.

 

Neal had been with strangers all day. People with whom he had little in common, and it was odd just being forced into _any_ company after being in something like solitary for years. He was adaptable, he faked it all, but he couldn’t pretend to himself that it wasn’t stressful and tiring. **Exhausting.** _Four years…!?! No, no – not if I find Kate and run._

 

Hearing Mozzie’s distinctive voice deliberately hashing quotations was a lovely sound! He hadn’t heard that for…he didn’t want to think how long, how many days, months, years…If he needed to run, he now had a way, a friend, a source of support – and _anything_ he would need. Something that had been coiled within him like a threatened diamond-back since walking out of prison and into FBI custody relaxed and slept.

 

He also knew that Moz wouldn’t say ‘I told you so’, however true it was: he should never have gone to Kate. He should have waited.

 

He was hopeful, but Mozzie had nothing new on Kate yet, either.

 

Mozzie wasn’t given to in-depth discussions about feelings, but as they were parting that evening, he turned and queried, with obvious misgivings, “What’s it like, Neal, the belly of the beast?”

 

Neal chuckled, and saw Mozzie register the speciousness of the humour, and winced. Not that Mozzie couldn’t see through his masks better than anybody, but he _must_ be struggling. He answered, “The beast has many odd parasites living within it!”

 

“ _That_ I will believe, man. Will you cope?”

 

“You know me, Moz. India rubber!”

 

“Yeah…rubber can get distorted, put under high pressure and temperature for long enough.”

 

Neal saw the concern in his friend’s eyes. His own darkened. “I think it would have been hard for me going straight from The Life into the FBI. Being in prison…hardly speaking to anyone…trying to stop my brain thinking, thinking, thinking all the time…planning, hoping, imagining…”

 

“You were okay, Neal?” Mozzie’s voice was pregnant with meaning, and Neal looked away and shrugged. Mozzie went on, clearing his throat first, “I have seen the stats, Neal. Somewhere in the region of seventy thousand rapes occur in prisons around this great country of ours every year. The fault is with some of the guards and the system, not with the victims.”

 

Neal felt extremely uncomfortable speaking about this, especially with Mozzie…or no, there was no-one else he would rather speak to about this!...but Mozzie was so practical, pragmatic! But with those fears large in Mozzie’s mind…

         “Moz, I wasn’t raped. I wasn’t coerced into sexual contact. Truly! I promise you! It was one of the few benefits of being in solitary or something like solitary a lot of the time. Some of the guards were harsh and unpleasant, unnecessarily cruel in little ways that hurt a great deal since they were abusing their power and we had no recourse whatsoever - but some were really kind and tried to make our stays there as easy as possible.”

 Neal saw some tension leave Moz’s body, and felt warmed by his friend’s concern. He sighed and went on, because that would convince Moz, “I was beaten up a few times, twice ended up needing a few days’ medical attention - and living in a place where one is constrained, a potential target for physical or even sexual abuse did something odd to my mind.

         “And you know what’s sad, there are so many men in there who are not responsible for their actions. They have very obvious mental health issues.”

 

“Mmm. I heard someone say once that Men’s Central Jail in Los Angeles is the largest mental health institution in the country…so many proper facilities have been shut down due to lack of funding (that’s the government’s excuse), and so the poor patients end up in prison, people with Alzheimer’s, bipolar, schizophrenia, so many conditions that could be treated.”

 

Neal nodded. “It was heart-breaking, even the little I saw. One man in solitary near me…the guard told me he probably had severe Alzheimer’s, you know they can get violent?”

 

“So what did it do to your mind?” Mozzie asked, and Neal swore at himself. He shouldn’t think Mozzie would forget, or let it go!

 

“I worked very, very hard to appear normal, even contented. I tried to make friends with the guards, and that helped – they were not supposed to talk as much as they did, not supposed to give me little concessions – one big, rugged guy used to bring me little treats of food from home!” Neal smiled at the memory. “But I struggled with anger, and depression. Terrible, tearing anger against the guards, Burke, you, myself – even Kate! Rages that left me sweating, shaking all over. I just had to hide them. I sometimes felt I was losing my mind.

"When Kate left me, told me she wasn't coming back, it nearly broke me. Just something as small as that. I stopped caring, brushing my hair, shaving...and then it occurred to me I could use it. My brain started working again.”

 

“And now?”

 

“Well, Moz, I am sure you, of all people, are aware of the efficient and effective, caring and compassionate treatment meted out to criminals once they are released, under any circumstances!”

 

Moz flinched at the sarcasm. Neal didn’t often use it, and the anger behind his friend’s voice was uncharacteristic and worrying. The Neal Mozzie had first met had plenty of reasons to be angry, but had always been up-beat and optimistic…which was one of the problems….

 

Neal took a deep breath and shrugged. “I’m lucky. Imagine those poor bastards stuck there for life. Solitary is generally long-term in the States. I was allowed a visitor a week, so I saw Kate, and kept alone much of the time. I’m resilient, you know?”

 

“Why I always said I’d kill myself first, Neal. You used to say there was always another way.”

 

“Yes, and I apologise. I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

 

“But you got out!”

 

“Some of me got out. I mean, I am not the same person I was, and it didn’t make me better and it didn’t make me kinder and it didn’t make me safer to be around. Just saying.”

 

“I’ll take my chances. I should have shot you before letting you go after Kate’s storage locker.”

 

Neal’s face split into a grin and the room lit up. “You’d have shot me?”

 

“Knowing what you just told me, I think it would have been the kinder option.”

 

“Other than making a great mess and having to run from the cops, which would have been difficult – yes, you are probably right!

         “Come on, we have to find Kate.”

 

“And then?”

 

“If my experiences have been a typical sample of my Life as a Ward of the FBI, we run.”

 

“Lucky I didn’t shoot you, then!”

 

“Find Kate, Moz.”

_Oh, I am so glad to have Mozzie back! His sense of humour, his quick brain. And though he likes to pretend he’s the cynical , misanthropic intellectual, he cares – at least for me, for some reason!_

_Stay close, Moz! I need you._

* * *

MH (Real Name Withheld Due to Scary Threats. Not that we know it. Or can even Hazard a Guess. No-one knows what he really looks like! A rumour on the Darknet.)

* * *

 

  _It’s so good to see him again! I’m not going to make him feel bad about that, because he chose Kate over me. And I’ve survived. And so has he. God knows what she thinks she’s doing to him? First prison, now this deal with the devil! All because of Kate – who was never worthy of him in the first place! No criminal smarts at all!_

_And his conversation is much the same, he looks better than I expected him to look – thank goodness for June, she’s an angel! – but that youthful sparkle is now artificial. Perhaps he wasn’t raped physically – **perhaps** , damn, he’s a good liar, the best! – but there’re worse violations._

_Stay close, Moz! Find Kate, get her to admit she’s playing him – strangle it out of her if necessary – and get him away from that plastic shackle, those plastic people._

 

 

* * *

Neal Caffrey (more than likely an alias)

* * *

  Neal did what he could to try and connect with Peter and Diana. It was what he was good at. He kept the anger in check, hid the depression well enough, though both attacked like dark waves in his soul, suddenly and without warning. The agents didn’t know how to read a professional criminal on a social level, after all. There was no ‘norm’ for them.

 

He looked at it as an exercise, for he didn’t expect to be around long.

 

When Peter asked about the bottle, and he told him about the cheap wine and pizza and the Cote d’Azur, feeling that it might make Peter sensitive to their connection, their love, and he remembered for a few seconds their delight, his and Kate’s, as they spun dreams. They hadn’t believed them all that strongly, but it had been fun.

 Burke said, “How’d that work out for you?” and again, Neal felt as though the man had deliberately thrown ice-water on him – or worse. _Has this man no sympathy, no kindness at all?_ _Perhaps not. I’m just a criminal to him, a case, a mug-shot, a number._

 

_But there’s nothing for it but to keep trying. Till Mozzie finds Kate._

 

* * *

FBI Special Agent Peter Burke

* * *

 

_He reacts to anything to do with this girl as though seared with a branding iron. Guess it’s his youth. Apparent youth! Perhaps El’s right – how would **I** react if she left me? But I’d just be heartbroken…I wouldn’t keep on stalking her! Poor, stupid kid. But he has to get over her. She probably just found another meal-ticket._

 

* * *

Neal Caffrey  (probably an alias)

* * *

 

 When he told Moz that they had to find the Dutchman, had to get him within a week, he saw the tension return.

 

“No, no, no! That isn’t fair!”

 

“This was only for this job, Mozzie. This wonderful deal, I mean!”

 

“Yeah, how many times did Burke fail to get the Dutchman? How many times did he fail to get _you!”_

“Doesn’t matter. I was stupid and Hagen saw me and recognised me. My fault. You always said that ‘stupid’ was the worst crime and the one most often punished? Guess I’m about to prove that.

         “But if we lose him - At least I saw you, met June…and I may get a chance to run. If we have no hope of finding Kate anyway, and I’m going back - !”

 

Neal expected Mozzie to suggest he run now, but,

“We found Kate – or evidence of where she was…” Mozzie smiled smug encouragement as he pushed a photograph towards him.

 

Neal’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. He touched her face on the flat portrait, imagining her soft skin, her eyes sparkling with joy. But here, her eyes were not filled with light. He looked into the photograph and felt her fear and anger.

 

“Who is this?” Neal asked, tapping the black-and-white, meaning the owner of the hand, and Mozzie glanced up, hearing the proof of what Neal had said…he wasn’t the same. There was a note of coldness, relentlessness, that had never been there before.

 

“I have no information, but I ran some databases and that is a ring given to FBI agents.”

 

“ _FBI_ agents!”

 

“Yes. But a great many of them have been given out, Neal.”

 

“It narrows it down!”

 

“And it narrows it down to senior FBI agents.”

 

“So she _was_ forced not to come and see me!”

 

“Yes, it looks that way.”

 

“But – who benefits from that?”

 

“Well, if you do find the Dutchman, your pet suit, Peter Burke!”

 

“Mmm – much as I’d like to blame Peter, I don’t think he’d have left me in prison all those months after I suggested the deal with him!”

 

“Oh, he did?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So he got you out not out of …kindness or something - ?”

 

Neal made a snorting noise that told Mozzie his opinion of _that!_

_“_ So he did it to get your help, but he obviously thought he could do it without you.” Another derisive snort! “So, Neal, it wasn’t _your_ Suit that frightened Kate into not visiting you, (if anyone did, we don’t know that this didn’t happen after she stopped coming to see you!) but if he had, he’d have taken you out as soon as he could, as soon as you’d shown your worth about the security strip you told me about, yes?”

 

Neal nodded, perhaps a little disappointed.

_It would be nice to have a target for my smouldering fury. And Burke is conveniently close and gives me other reasons to distrust and dislike him!_

Neal sighed.

 

“We’ll find her, Neal. We have a start!”

 

 

* * *

MH (Real Name Withheld Due to Scary Threats. Not that we know it. Or can even Hazard a Guess. No-one knows what he really looks like! A rumour on the Darknet.)

* * *

 

_Yeah, he’s not going to give up until he knows she’s dead, he’s dead, or she tells him to his face she wants nothing more to do with him **and** he’s sure she isn’t being threatened into saying it. Sad! That’s what hope and faith will do to you! She’s probably just found another man who will look after her and gaze into those big blue eyes, or perhaps another man like Adler to work for. She’s physically a great asset to a company, I guess. Wonder if she’s training as a model. That’s an idea._

 

 

* * *

The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous)

* * *

 

 He took up the pad he liked to scribble on. He had various ideas on these pads that went back decades, and every now and then two or more gelled and he could put something together from the offspring. Luckily he had a pretty good memory, and he’d read over each of the pads several times.

 

But at the moment, he had writer’s block or something dreadful. He’d heard the rumours that he was washed up. He wasn’t washed up, he was depressed. Of course, the one could lead to the other. Both could lead to the other. Both could make the other worse, a sucking downward spiral.

 

He decided to go with his first instincts when he read that newspaper, even if just to loosen up.

 

He scrawled:

 

>  Young man breaks outa prison. Looks young, angelic, but is old έ steeped in sin. IQ has been measured over έ over cos so high…

_Can I write as though my IQ ‘s that high…? May as well try._

 

>  Only 1 FBI agent has ever bn able to catchhim…

  _Better have names. I like names, if they come to me._

 

>  FBI agent Stark

He stopped, thought, continued:

 

>   FBI agent ~~Stark~~ Stone. Neil Stone.

  _No…_

 

>  FBI agent ~~Stark Stone. Neil Stone~~ Bruce Stone.

 

_Too obvious. Go with Neil Stone. He’s supposed to be the good guy! Solid-sounding name,_

He started the sentence again:

 

> FBI agent Neil Stone. Murderer Peter George O’Neill. Peter brilliant, but unable to curb his instinct to kill. He kills έ moves into the houses of victims. Kills once a month, moves once a month.

 

_Yeah, I like this. Never gets to pay utility bills! But how does Stone catch O’Neill? He has to catch him and put him back, people don’t like criminals winning, especially murderers…damn, perhaps better scale back on the IQ here! Of course, people know that the cleverest crooks never get caught. Perhaps by accident. Okay, so O’Neill gets sick? No – have a neighbour fall in love with this handsome, aloof man. Women – and men, for all I know – are always writing to criminals! Marry them, even!_

_But wouldn’t he just kill her off? Yeah, he does. Just before he leaves that location…but before that she somehow gives him away…takes a photograph he doesn't know about? He takes her phone but she's printed out a copy and keeps it in a book by her bed...  
_

* * *

Neal Caffrey (from evidence in hand, believed to be an alias)

and FBI Special Agent Peter Burke

* * *

 

The next day, Neal decided he hadn’t gathered enough facts to categorise Peter. _What if he’s not so bad, if Elizabeth has softened his heart a little? She and I seemed to hit it off. He must be nicer than he looks, than he’s been acting. He **must** be._

_And he must be able to understand how I’m feeling about Kate – **he** stalked **Elizabeth** to get her! Used Bureau resources, before he even knew she liked him! He said it was just to see if she had another man…well, even if he just did that for me, he’d find the man with the ring! If he could help me just a **little…** we could work together. Like colleagues, at least, if not friends. Just a little respect…_

He reminded Burke of his order not to look for Kate, then showed him the photograph…well, a doctored photograph. Just Kate. _Perhaps Peter will see that Kate is scared. Perhaps if Peter seems open…_

 

Peter frowned. “You’re putting me in a tough spot here.”

 

“These were taken four days ago at a San Diego ATM. She’s going by the name of Kate Perdue…you know what Perdue means in French?”

 

“Yes, it means lost.” He shoved the photograph back at Neal. _I don’t care how lost she is! I wish she would stay lost! I want to keep you right here, and safe, and working off your sentence. Finding a better life._

 

“Yeah, it makes you wonder, right? Is she lost to me, or without me?”

 

Neal tried to read the man, but it seemed his face was closed, hard. And he was radiating stern disapproval. _Can’t he see, doesn’t he care? How would **he** feel about Elizabeth if she was taken from him?_

Peter snapped, “Stop it.” _If I can’t talk him out of this…_

Neal, now convinced he is grasping at straws, continued in a rush of words, “Look, I just need a couple of days after this Dutchman thing is over, a couple of days to go to San Diego. You can send an agent with me. You can come with me - !” _I’m promising to get him the Dutchman! Surely that’s what he wants? This man threatening her is an FBI agent! He could help me so much…!_

 

Peter became angry, seeing where this was leading. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! How many times are you going to screw up your life for this girl? I hate to break it to you, buddy, but she dumped you. With prejudice. What exactly is your plan if you find her?”

 

 _Oh, find her!_ Neal thought. _Just find her! And I only screwed up my life for her because you used her…_ he found it hard to call this man Peter. Or Burke, Or anything vague polite, even in his thoughts! … _you used my love for her._

 

Peter watched, knowing that this might well be the turning point for Neal. If he could convince him that Kate was nothing, that he had another life, a life he could build with the FBI, a legitimate life working with him, Peter… He couldn’t show any sympathy, because Neal would use it. _He’s hurting. How **would** I feel, if it was El? But El would never walk out on me, hide from me, and Kate did it to him twice! Why does he still care? Not as though they’d been together for ten years before she dumped him like us! Just silly girl-boy stuff!_

Neal said, more softly, “I know there’s more to our story. She disappears in the dust, no, that’s not an ending.”

_I can’t say anything to get through because he doesn’t care. That first morning at June’s…he didn’t share my joy. Now he doesn’t care for my grief, my anxiety. The only real emotions are his own, because he’s on the side of the law. It that it, Burke? Only lawmen get to fall in love? For the rest of us it’s always just a con?_

_He just needs me to catch the Dutchman. Anything, including Kate, is a distraction for me, and he’ll fight me every inch of the way. He doesn't see her as my motivation...And he'll probably throw me back in a cell afterwards.  
_

 

Peter appealed to Neal's reason: ‘Come on, man! We’ve all been there. But it gets easier.”

_Was I ever this in love with anyone, but El? And she’s loyal! And she isn’t a criminal who’s playing me like a cheap fiddle!_

Neal, not even aware he’s speaking out loud, it seems to Peter, “Not if she’s the one.”

 

Peter sighed. Neal was so smart, and so stupid about this girl.

 

Neal felt a rebellion flare within his heart. As when Keller had shot that man, as when Martin had left kid-Peter flat and still on the cobbles, his leg twisted beneath him. He asked, “I brought this to you, doesn’t that count for something?”

 

“No,” Peter said it flatly, no emotion, not a scrap of caring. “We made a deal. I gave you something good here and you’re about to blow it.” _He runs! He runs from me – and he’ll run to her. Either way I’ll lose him…but I did give him some trust. I did put my good-standing with Hughes, with the Bureau, on the line for him. I have to appear strong._

Neal let his unease show. _Let Peter think it was about Kate, not about him._ As with Keller and Martin, he had to hide it, he had to use it. _Couldn’t let anyone see, anyone guess_. _Secrets are your power._ “You’re right, you’re right, Peter! I’m a smart guy, I should know when I’ve been dumped.”

 _So now I know. It’s just about what he can get from me. He didn’t ask how I got the photo. He didn’t care how I knew her name. He doesn’t see how concerned and anxious she looks in the photo. Now I know I can’t trust him. It’s all about our ’deal’_ . _At least now I **know.** Nothing here for me. _

_Interesting exercise, actually. I did consider what it would be like to work on the side of the law when I proposed the deal. I’d lose Mozzie, and that would be dreadful, but I thought it might be fun, problem-solving, might even be some good people – like those guards in prison. Perhaps meet with Moz on the side! Now I know they can’t see anything beyond their little boxes…not Peter, not Jones, not even Diana, though every now and then she seems to understand just a little…_

 

Peter watched him and sighed again, internally, this time. _I don’t buy it. He escapes supermax, finds proof of her somehow and will give her up just like that? How stupid does he think I am? I’ve just got to keep him occupied and let the tracker do the rest. He knows I will throw him back – for as long as I can! Perhaps not forever, or his lifetime, that’s not likely to happen, but if I can act like the hardest-nosed agent ever, he might believe that._

_Then he’ll **never** get to see his beloved Kate! Or the sunshine! If I let him think I care at all, he’ll tie me round his finger like he did that woman with the marble house! I will not become his mark, another trophy, another notch in his belt! And if I can pin him to my side for long enough, perhaps he’ll see that this is a much better way to live, honest and open and free? No need to run, ever?_

_He’s seen El – can’t he see there’s a beautiful woman out here for him, one without baggage? One who wants him to be the best he can be, free and legit.? Not a dream he’s created for himself from a ribbon and a lock of hair!_

_  
_

 

* * *

 

The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous)

* * *

 

 The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous), scanning the paper as he always did for the odd bit of inspiration (‘ _or to waste time,_ _make me feel I’m accomplishing something!‘_ he was honest enough to admit, sometimes) saw the same photograph beside another news item. He read the short piece, below the same by-line:

 

**New Deal for Convicts Causes Controversy**

_The work-release programme, using the newest technology in GPS tracking devices imbedded in an unbreakable ankle-bracelet, is being expanded. Proponents, including Director Drucker of the FBI, are calling it the best way of utilising the skills of those men and women who otherwise would merely be cluttering up the already severely over-crowded prison system in this state. The chip in the bracelet can be set for an extremely limited radius, allowing the criminal a short leash, in an attempt to re-introduce them to society without endangering the public in any real way._

_While being, in effect, on house arrest, and not incurring the costs of parole officers or guards, the carefully selected criminals would work for various branches of Law Enforcement as consultants in their fields of expertise. Neal Caffrey (29, photo below) is one of the few deemed suitable for this programme._

_Conservatives, lead by Mr. and Mrs. Holzter, who lost their two children (11 and 15) to a vicious home invasion three years ago, have said that this defeats the purpose of catching and incarcerating criminals in the first place._

_“If we are going to give them cushy jobs ‘helping’ the police, how does that punish them for their crimes, or act as a deterrent to other would-be criminals. This is a typical soft-on-crime approach that has led to so much violence in our state and, indeed the whole country,” Mr. Holtzer said yesterday. “This will come back to haunt our Governor come election time, mark my words!”_

 

The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous) nodded thoughtfully.

_Ah! **Now** I know…we’ll get my Peter caught, and re-released as a – what? – consultant? Then Stone’s no-nonsense attitude, bully-cop attitudes of yesteryear could be the only thing keeping his murderous impulses in check. He’s been brought out to track down another serial killer that is on a spree - killing all over the Eastern United States. Stone knows he’s a psychopath, can’t trust him, Peter could kill him if he ceases to be hyper-vigilant for a single second…hmm…sub-plot, Stone’s wife is scared for his life every minute, worried that their child could grow up without a father…Kate? That sounds wholesome. Kate! Kate and her little boy – no, girl, cuter. Or better – twins! Cissy and…and…Jenni?_

 

 _Meanwhile, Peter is so clever, he keeps tricking Stone. This becomes a game for him, almost as compelling as killing – but there are murders that Stone thinks might be the serial killer…give him a name…The Rainy Day Killer. Cause he always kills when it‘s raining? No, no – he always leaves an umbrella and ten dollars on the victim! Yea, that’s creepy! And Stone thinks some of the victims are actually Peter’s, but he can’t prove it, and he doesn’t know if Peter’s able to block the GPS…(how do these things work? Gotta find out.) So the question is – is Peter helping Stone, is he working with the Rainy Day Killer, is he competition for the Rainy Day_ _Killer…hmmm…then the Rainy Day Killer comes after Peter, and Stone has to save him, but still doesn’t know if it’s because Peter is helping him, or because he’s soiling the Rainy Day dude’s pitch!_

_And Stone gets harder and more cynical because of his distrust of Peter and all the danger. And some of his superiors start to distrust him because he’s working so closely with Peter, perhaps being influenced by that man’s evil morals…and eventually we’ll have Stone being implicated in a murder – and even he doesn’t know if it was done by Peter or The Rainy Day Killer! And will Peter save him, or run and let Stone, the only man bright enough to catch him, rotting in a federal prison? And – yeah – send him birthday and Christmas cards, unsigned, but the man knows who is sending them…_

 

 

* * *

MH (Real Name Withheld Due to Scary Threats. Not that we know it. Or can even Hazard a Guess. No-one knows what he really looks like, even! A rumour on the Darknet.)

* * *

 

_Oh, dear. Neal is struggling. I said to him, “Love Kate all your days, but don’t let it spoil you, for it is wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can’t have the one you want.”_

_He turned and sneered at L.M.Alcott, as well he might – I have few quotations about love that seemed to fit the bill as well as that, and riposted with, “When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.”_

_I recalled,_ _‘Love is merely a madness: and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers are in love too,’_ _but that just seemed too cruel when he was hurting so much from so many wounds already. I am not sure if I am seeing the Suit through his eyes, distorted by his hurt, but the man appears a brute. Heaven knows, I have little enough patience for Romance, and Giving All for the object of one’s affections, especially Kate…but does he delight to draw ragged finger-nails over Neal’s exposed nerves? Is he a sadist?_

_Neal gazed over the lights of Manhattan, that insane view for an unpaid informant of the G-men, searching as if he was looking, always looking for Kate’s smoke-signal somewhere out there. I stood as close as I could without actually touching him, and said, quietly, “If she is lost to you, I want you to remember: ‘Any fool can be happy. It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep.’ You’re an artist, Neal. You’ll take her and make beauty.”_

_It may not mean much now, but perhaps one day…_

* * *

Neal Caffrey… (definitely one of many aliases)

* * *

 

_I work next to Peter every day. He likes me as close as possible, as though I do, in fact, walk beside him on a leash and choke-chain. 'Under his eye' he calls it. Now all we have are masks and secrets. I am ridiculously cheerful, I play at play. He will never help me. I have to help him or be tossed back in prison – he tells me that often and smiles like a wolf watching a crippled fawn. I am pretending very hard to be the leashed, crippled fawn. I object enough to his teasing so he doesn’t think I am pretending. He must know that I am strong inside, from even the few things he knows of me?_

_I dress meticulously. I follow all the little social norms designed to make friends with the others at the Bureau. My mind works on ways Kate could be coerced, on ways to save her, and sometimes I just wallow in my memories of her, and Diana looks up and catches me smiling and I hold up a picture of the Matisse that someone is supposed to have insured for the money and then had stolen, and she shakes her head at me. Peter scowls at us, thinking we are wasting the Bureau’s precious time…as though it is not paid for on the backs of the working poor long since._

_It is a nice Matisse._

* * *

FBI Special Agent Peter Burke

* * *

 

_‘Neal Caffrey’…to hear El say it sometimes, the name is the worst swear word ever invented! He walks beside me and smiles, and laughs, and thinks of Kate. I know he does, for he never mentions her. I wish I could catch hold of him. He is like mercury, pretty and shiny and impossible to grasp. And dangerous! Poisonous! I find I want to like him. But I daren’t. He’s making me want to like him because that’s what conmen do._

_Damnation, my thoughts keep going round like a dog on a track._

_I want to help him, and every time I look in his direction, he steps closer with his feet and slips away like a dancer in his mind. So El says. But I think romantic calls to romantic. She said the most preposterous thing to me the other day – “Hug him, Hon,” she said, and there were no smiles in her blue, blue eyes, blue-er than his, even though I searched for them. I made a face and she nodded. “You caught him, but only because he had no-one to hug but Kate.”_

_“ **You** hug him!” I jested, but she shook her head and said, “You need to do it.” Like **that’s** going to happen. I know she’s worried. She thinks I’m obsessed, and perhaps I am. No, I am not!_

_I just think such ability should be used for good, not evil. Or perhaps he sold his soul to the devil to get it in the first place? Then he’s beyond redemption!_

 

* * *

MH (Real Name Withheld Due to Scary Threats. Not that we know it. Or can even Hazard a Guess. No-one knows what he really looks like, even! A rumour on the Darknet.)

* * *

 

_Neal woke me with urgent exclamations, and after all our work has decoded the bottle with a candle burnt down in just the right way! Orange juice…right out of Hardy Boys or Secret Seven! He woke me out of a dream I was pleased to be quit of, and as soon as he had enough time off from his jailer, we headed to Grand Central Station._

_There, again with the ‘X’ motif, he found a note. (I stifled an urge to gag. He says she loves the classics. I fear she can think of nothing original.) He decoded it to say Friday at noon, which has made his inside all lit up like a Chinese lantern. He mellows that when he’s ‘working’ the Suit – or for the Suit. They have taken down some nasty men and says the Suit seems happy with their blood-contract. But now, when he’s with me, or June, he’s truly hopeful._

_We went back today, it’s Wednesday. Back to Grand Central. Case the joint. My question is, how did she know he’d be able to get there? What if his radius didn’t extend that far? How would dragging the Suit along with him have worked for you, Kate?_

_Or did the evil man Neal sees with horns and a trident, the one perhaps influencing her, threatening her, guiding her, training her, whatever, is **he** the one who left the bottle, is **he** , member of the FBI, the one who somehow influenced the setting of the radius to allow Neal to reach the destination here…or something far worse…is he working with Burke? Does Burke hold the trident? Which makes this a big and complex plot and we’re fighting a phalanx of very nasty men, each with the cover of a badge and the use of a gun. _

_And I’ll never get Neal to just give up and run, without being able to prove all that to him!_

_The best time to mark the bottle was when it was in Burke’s care, and then he got Neal out and set the radius to correspond to the clue he had left on it and the months keeping him waiting and despairing in prison were just to cement his gratitude when he did take him out. If Burke is as bad as Neal says he is, why did he return that bedamned bottle and get us in this mess? Neal says he hates him to speak of Kate…so why return the only physical link Neal has with her? Unless he’s part of the plan. It’s the only thing that actually makes sense!_

_I daren’t tell Neal that. He is struggling enough with his polyester-wrapped anchor as it is. Whenever I ask if there’s anything good about his Suit, he always mentions the wife of the Suit. Or the dog. That is hardly a good sign!_

 

 

* * *

Neal Caffrey…or whoever the heck he is…

* * *

 

 _“_ Why here, Moz?”

“Again I say – there’s a great oyster bar - !”

“Be serious. I haven’t got a lot of time.”

“ Sorry, Neal. Plenty of places to run. Exits all over the place, lots of people. Tall buildings…high road bridges…”

“Lots of vantage-points.” Neal scans around.

“Yes. I mentioned the red dot on your forehead. Chest, more likely, actually – less likely to catch you in the eye and alert you, difficult to set up a head shot from far, too much depends on wind-speed and direction – buildings can make things more difficult - ”

“What if she can’t get here? If she truly is watched? If they want _me…?”_

“To kidnap you? Why set that up _here?_ Too many witnesses. Many places much easier than this! To put a name to a face, perhaps! They need you free…or whatever you call the state you are in at the moment! No, either she’s going to try and run for it …but that can’t be right. She couldn’t have known you’d be able to be here on any particular Friday! And if she’s watched, kept close, why would…oh.”

“You think they’re going to try and get me to do something? That she’ll just give me a message from somewhere, while the man wearing the ring keeps her in his sights? So the red dot will be on _her?”_

“No, she’s his leverage, if that’s the case. He can’t afford to off her - sorry, Neal – but he can’t. She’s dead, then you run. Nothing to stop you. You have to know she’s alive and well, but totally in his power.”

“So this is blackmail? Get something for me, do something for me, or I’ll kill your beloved?”

“Yes – so the last thing he can do is hurt her, remember? He has to keep her away from you, though. There has to be a distance between you, no physical contact. Keep you wanting to get to her.”

“He doesn’t have to kill her. There’s always the old go-to of fingers in the mail.” Neal’s voice was suspiciously flat.

“Yeuch. But even that’s iffy. Then you would have concrete evidence of danger to her. You’d go to the Suit and he’d have to at least pretend to investigate! At present he thinks – or says he thinks – that she’s just left you. Which may be true, but if fingers start showing up, that blows away that idea. No, I doubt he can do anything that drastic.”

“Thank you, Mozzie, you’re right. But if she’s free, she could always phone me. Why…oh!”

“She doesn’t know your cell number – sorry, sorry, hate that terminology – your mobile number, neither does the man. If he’s FBI he could find out your number, but he doesn’t know we know he’s FBI, he’ll want to keep that hidden! We’re ahead of him there!”

“There’s a public phone right there,” Neal nodded. “She can phone me on Friday at noon, when I’m close to it.”

“Don’t be stupid, Neal! You know it isn’t possible to phone one of those things unless they're malfunctioning...most have no ringer! I think there are some in remote areas that allow incoming calls, or ones in dorms and things, and older ones in national parks - not here! They say they stopped that because drug dealers were using them. You can only phone from it!

         “As though drug dealers can’t afford burner phones, though they are more trackable by tower!” Mozzie made a derisive noise of contempt for the authorities. “Just another way to control the poor.”

“Perhaps on Friday he’ll have a phone number in the space where I found the letter? There’s nothing there now.”

“That would work. Proof of life, give you incentive, hearing her voice, keep himself in the shadows.”

Neal turned to Moz, his blue eyes all aglow with internal fires. “If I am to see her – which is the best thing he can hope to do, to motivate me and prove it’s her – she’ll almost certainly have to be up there, away from the crowds!” he waves with just the slightest movement of one finger, careful of being watched.

Mozzie doesn’t look immediately, and when he does, he appears to be scanning the sky for signs of rain. “You may well be right.”

 

 

* * *

MH (Real Name Withheld Due to Scary Threats. Not that we know it. Or can even Hazard a Guess. No-one knows what he really looks like! A rumour on the Darknet.)

* * *

 

_For one terrible half-hour it looked as though the Suit wasn’t going to let Neal have the Friday lunch hour off, or not until way after it meant anything to him! But we got to Grand Central with about 3 minutes to spare and I had to listen to him worry that we’d missed her._

“You timed it, Moz? How long?”

“Neal, you haven’t lost your memory – fifteen to seventeen minutes at this time of day! You know this! You’re talking to fill the air!”

He ducked his head a little, amused, a little bashful. He’d done that a great deal at first, when we were first together, talked for the sake of talking if he was nervous.

The he shrugged. “We could end up with nothing. We could have read this all wrong.”

“We broke into that very intricate and multi-layered security system outside Naples because the Rodin was there…”

“Only it wasn’t! It had been moved for an exhibition!”

“Good practise, anyway.”

“This isn’t a beautiful statue, she’s flesh and blood!”

_I expected him to quote the ‘flesh-of-my-flesh, bone-of-my-bone’ but thankfully he didn’t. I was already feeling a little nauseous, again, from a tofu sandwich. Reading up, shouldn’t touch tofu. Just to be safe. Can’t afford to become oestrogen dominant, not with my physique!_

“Time I moved,” I said to him. “Keep it together.”

“Yeah, Moz. Hope we’ve guessed right. Got the dart?”

“Yeah. Locked and loaded. If we haven’t guessed _this_ right, he still has to make contact, or we’ve read the whole thing incorrectly. We’ll get another chance. And there just aren’t many possibilities, mon frère.”

I glanced back as I left, and I felt so proud. I love him a great deal. He stood still and calm as though every Monarch butterfly that migrates weren’t trying to fly within him. He reached up and took down the piece of folded paper, just where he thought it would be.

         This had been the dream that had given him something to live for through prison. I would never be that for him, though I could be a friend.

_Not his dream, his hope. Not Kate. My head wasn’t sure of her, still isn’t. But for him, my heart hopes she’s here, she's good, and we save her._

* * *

FBI Special Agent Peter Burke

* * *

 

“Burke. **_What?_**   I’ll be there, I’ll be there!”

He couldn’t get _near_ Grand Central Station, however. Everywhere, on every level, there seemed to be squad cars, three Firetrucks he could see, four ambulances – the flashing lights would give an epileptic a seizure! It was like Los Vegas! He left his car, in the end, and walked.

“He was here, Agent Burke,” the Marshal said, holding up the anklet, cut at the band.

“He cut it and ran - But what the hell’s all this!” Burke snarled in frustration, waving at the emergency vehicles.

“The police have some witnesses. I tried to get some answers; it took a while but the basic facts are Caffrey cut the anklet. He's not caught on any cameras. Last we see of him, he's down by the clock there...then he vanishes, keeping to blind spots.

"At about the same time, though we do not know if they are related, Agent Burke, there was a female who fainted, went unconscious, perhaps had a heart attack. She fell down. No-one heard any shots. She was loaded into an ambulance. No-one got the number.  But someone phoned in to the police fifteen minutes earlier reporting a suspicious package. Well, Agent Burke, you know the protocols – Grand Central Station?”

“Yeah, I see.” Peter felt his heart sink.

_Just as I thought – he’s gone. Somehow she connected with him? Or he just ran, because that’s what he does. Decided she wasn't worth hanging about for. Don’t understand all the melodrama, but no-one could have followed him through this! Wouldn’t have mattered if I was close by. The Fates worked in his favour, with the bomb threat, or we’d have got him._

_Well, I tried to give him something good. All he could see was a pretty girl. Damn it! Now we have to catch him all over again and let him moulder in a prison cell._

 

* * *

The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous)

* * *

 

Another headline with the same picture.

**Criminal on GPS Tracker Cuts and Runs.**

_Neal Caffrey (31), a criminal being used by the Federal Bureau of Investigations as a consultant, on a tracking anklet which monitored his every move, cut the bracelet and fled yesterday. When questioned, his handler, the Special Agent in charge, admitted that he knew that his ward was actively searching for his girlfriend, who had visited him regularly in prison. A female matching her overall description apparently fainted and was taken away in an ambulance near where the criminal cut his bracelet. It is a possibility that this is a tragic Bonnie-and-Clyde-type love story. Anyone knowing anything about Neal Caffrey’s whereabouts, a brunette of about twenty-five years, five-foot-four who needed medical help but was not admitted into any local hospitals, or who saw an ambulance, number unknown, leaving the vicinity of Grand Central Station is asked to call the FBI…_

 

The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous) threw the paper down in disgust. A stupid **_love story!_**

Still… **_USA_** network was sniffing around for a new series…. Monk was gone, Psych was going, Burn Notice was well along in seasons…

He pulled up the scribbling pad and wrote in big letters USA across the top to remind himself. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually wrote, but if this story worked well, perhaps it would be a nice little payday that would give him some breathing room. A season, perhaps two, while he got his mojo back!

_So I have to get rid of Peter the psychopathic murderer and Stone – well, shelve them, some good ideas there. But not for USA, that’s for sure. Blue sky network? Well, let me see if I can adapt this._

He scribbled out lines here and there.

_Okay, he’s not a murderer. He’s innocent… no, that’s been done to death. But he’s totally non-violent. Or he’s committed lots of crimes, but not the actual one he was imprisoned for…sort that out later. But still very smart. And a cripple. No, no, Blue Skies! Jeepers, this isn’t my wheelhouse – okay, non-violent, very, very good looking. Yes, and the agent is married, straight arrow, but dull…but very clever – because he catches the criminal. But he uses the girl! That’s it. And because of the criminal’s old buddies, his wife gets kidnapped, but she gets away really fast…no real trauma. Blue Skies! Blue Skies…_

He found himself writing long into the night.

_This is ridiculous. I like the small, uninteresting side-kick whom no-one sees, almost like Maris in Frasier or the Wizard of Oz. The brains behind all the capers! (Am I seriously writing a story that involves ‘capers’ Should do a cooking show, next!) And some of the villains, especially the G-man villains are very enjoyable! But so far I’ve had every major character kidnapped - except the sidekick. Lots of re-writing! In fact, the poor criminal hero has had **two** girls ‘kidnapped’…What did I call the sidekick…? But it’s actually rather fun…I must be very tired, to think this drivel is any good at all!_

_Must get the names right. Well, I’ll just call the irredeemable criminal Neal Caffrey for the moment, too tired to work on a name…I’m not that good with names …they have to come to me…so, Neal. And we’ll make Peter the unimaginative …that’s a bit strong…um…I’ll think of it. Moralistic. Straitlaced, pedantic, harsh. Oh, that sounds not-Blue-Skies!_

He was wondering about a name for his proposed series when he went down to make sure the laundry had gone through. There was a stain-removal product there…White Collar.

_Perfect! White collar crimes…White Collar consultant, pretty-boy with dicey morals, Neal Caffrey._

Then he went back up and read through what he’d written.

_This is complete poppycock! I’m not good at keeping the saccharine-sweet people sweet…I can’t submit this! My name would become a laughing-stock!  
_

In disgust, The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous) tore the whole section off his pad and threw it across the table. It slid off and onto the floor. _Waste of time!_

He took the pad and went and sat in the back of the car. Sometimes a different venue changed his whole mood, and it was warm in the car.

He started writing frantically as his brain showed him a much more promising, more ‘The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous)’ type of show:

 

 **_ Premise: _ ** _A mixed group of agents – all undercover – from various LEO agencies…the G-men, of course, DEA, some others…live in a nice Miami – no, Southern California property that’s been confiscated from some big drug dealer. They have to try and get along. Some have a great deal of experience, some are rookies. It’s gritty, dark….Ah this is more my style…_

_Won’t sell this to USA, that’s for sure, but I feel the blood of this one in my veins! Hey, I haven’t felt this alive since I wrote that play about the death of Elvis…he’s always lucky for me, anything to do with Elvis!_

* * *

Eddie, Assistant to The Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because he’s famous)

* * *

 

 

_Where the hell is he? If he doesn’t get something on paper, we’re all going to be on food stamps, damn it! I’ve fielded a hundred frantic calls…I should have taken that other job – but this guy looked to have so much potential, and he promised me he’d have something today. If he doesn’t, I’m just going to tender my resignation._

_He’s being a messy slob, too – what’s this? Oh, this is his scribble pad. Hmm…USA network, huh? Well, okay, Mr Man with the Very Curly Hair (name withheld because you’re famous)! This looks like something! Bit of a mess, confusing, but we have no time to waste, and I’m **not** going to find him and ask him! I’ll get this sorted out as best I can, printed up and sent off! We may just eat again!_

_The End ._

 

_Comments always welcome, as you can perhaps guess!  
_

**Author's Note:**

> I found an interview with Jeff Eastin telling of his depression, and how hard he found it at times to function. With that in mind, I forgive him whatever part he played in my disappointments! 
> 
> He also is not as old school as this, he uses iPads and MacBooks...though perhaps he has scratch-pads somewhere in a box, and it worked better for the story. Hard, I believe, to tear a MacBook!
> 
> This is for you, Jeff, for creating our favourite characters! Whatever happened later, thank you for Neal and Mozzie and June, Alex and Sara, and Diana and Theo, Keller and Rachel, Satchmo ...and the rest.


End file.
